


A Waste of Shame

by FrostedFox



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Dreadful_Kinks, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, M/M, Prompt Fill, Protective Ethan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostedFox/pseuds/FrostedFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Home, to where he can’t sleep, can’t hide, can’t relax. To where the screams of a friend haunt both his reality and his dreams. He joined me because he needs a break.” Dorian took a step closer. “You both need a break.”<br/>-<br/>Prompt: When Dorian Gray sets his sights on Victor, Ethan doesn't like it one bit.<br/>Ethan doesn't think Victor can take care of himself and definitely doesn't think he can handle someone like Dorian Gray. [But Dorian knows what to do with those who stand in his way.]<br/>(TW: DUB-CON FOR DRUG-USAGE.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Waste of Shame

She had offered no explanation for the rejection, and that’s what clawed at the inside of his mind like rats on concrete. No, the sting of the denial itself was not something he had familiarity with; and no, there existed not a soul alive who had left him with tears spilling down his cheeks in public — not that public decency or the lack thereof bore any weight on his mind. The first moment Dorian knew he needed — as opposed to his usual wanting — Vanessa Ives was when he saw her fuck a man on the street with no regard for any other facet of life. So yes, he hurt, and the desire now to go to her stemmed from the pain he felt, but he told himself repeatedly that with explanation might come some solace.

Besides, full-charm turned up, he thought perhaps preparation might help bring her back to his bed.

The rain beat against his coat while he waited for some response to his knock, but none came. No sound resonated from the streets and Dorian Gray realized he forgot to check the time before leaving the house — time was something of the lowest consequence to him, but to others it seemed to be regarded with care. After midnight, he guessed. He knocked again, then tried the handle. It was open. Slowly and with no lack of polite hesitation written on his face, he entered the house.

Vanessa’s room was upstairs, that much he knew. He moved without sound and glanced into open doors, placed his hand on closed ones to feel her presence. Ah, there. Another unlocked door and he was inside. She sat, back turned to him, at a vanity. She pulled a heavy brush through her long, dark hair. In the reflection, he could see her, but he was all but invisible to her. Her eyes, sunken enough to hold soup, red-rimmed and hollow, only gazed into themselves. The tangles cracked and broke as her hand tugged.

“Miss Ives,” he said, and her eyes widened, but she turned slowly to face him.

“What are you doing here?” Something crossed her features, a realization, and she relaxed. “You’re not real,” she said, and turned once more to the glass.

“I like to think otherwise, but I suppose there is some debate about the meaning of reality and our place in it.”

She closed her eyes. “My imagination grows stronger,” she murmured. “No longer does it cut to the brutal fucking, the violent threats from lucifer himself. Now I get conversation of the metaphysical. I must say, I won’t complain of any of it. Not this time.” She turned and faced him once more, this time setting the brush on the table. “Oh, Mister Gray. Were you not an illusion I would inform you of my inability to be with you. This is your fault, you see. So much suffering, and you at the heart of it.”

“I assure you, Miss Ives. I never meant to cause you … I had no intention of any suffering beyond the consensual. You, on the other hand, willingly broke my heart for the world to see, and left me confused as a virgin in heat.”

“Oh, with the over dramatics. At least no one could call you unpoetic.” She paused. “You should talk to Victor.”

Dorian was unfamiliar with the name, but let it pass with a wave of his hand. “Tell me about this suffering and my involvement.”

She interrupted with a cackle. “And on the topic of _virgins_ , no less. Victor! Victor, come here a minute! He’s often around the corner, listening for hysteria, preaching psycho-sexual rubbish. For which you, of course, are to blame. But hush, I don’t believe he knows of our … involvement. It will be better for you if it remains that way. Less questions.” Her eyes flashed. Dark and terrifying and irresistible. Dorian recalled the seance, the figures in the street. If she thought this would frighten him, she hadn’t been paying attention. Still, he would find no answers here. She found delight in his frustration, and what frustration he felt. Someone else, then, would have to provide him answers.

A rap-rap-rap came on the door, and Vanessa’s face lit with a smile more predatory than joyous. The door creaked as it was oh-so-hesitantly pushed open. A head, then, pale with blue eyes that highlighted dark circles to match Vanessa’s.

“Did you call?” Ah, so this must be Victor.

“Oh, yes. I believe Mister Gray here has some questions for you. Or some answers.”

The new man’s eyes landed on Dorian for the first time. “How did you get in here?”

“Unlocked door.” Dorian lifted his shoulders in a slight enough motion to be missed. It wasn’t.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I have no intention of causing Miss Ives any harm. No more than she has caused me, at least.” He smiled, held out his hand. “Dorian Gray.”

“The beautiful boy of our dreams,” Victor said, gaze hazing over. Vanessa giggled in a manner much too girlish to be natural.

“Perhaps to my more intimate of acquaintances,” Dorian said, raising an eyebrow.

Victor snapped back to himself. “Oh, god. Sorry, I just— Doctor Victor Frankenstein.” He held a shaking hand out to Dorian, who grasped it hard enough to steady the man.

“I’m afraid I’ve shared some of your secrets, Mister Gray,” Vanessa sang.

“Why don’t you follow me to the drawing room,” Victor asked. Dorian gave a closed-lipped smile and nodded once.

Victor waved towards a couch and sat in a chair opposite. Dorian preferred to stand, to be well above his prey, but saw little possibility of attaining answers if the conversation began on a note of defiance. He sat, hands folded, and watched Victor steeple his fingers, close his eyes, and sigh.

“I take it you’re aware of Miss Ives’s illness?”

“Cursorily. Clearly she is in no state of wellness now.”

“No. No, she is not.”

“May I ask what’s wrong?”

“I think it has to do with trauma of a … sexual nature. But no one can seem to tell me anything about her past. Not even the state of her … if she’s … _intact_.”

“She has had sexual experiences,” Dorian offered, suppressing a smile.

“You?”

“And before me.”

“Her first?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“No, no. Of course not. Sorry, I— I’m quite fond of Miss Ives when …”

“When she’s well. So am I.”

“And you’re here because she denied you?”

“Well, as you say, _Doctor_. She’s not well. May I stay here for a little while? See if she becomes lucid again? I have some questions, too.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” a new voice called from the hall. Ethan, of course it was Ethan. They were friends, were they not? Vanessa and the sharp shooter. “Mister Gray,” he greeted as he entered. “Victor.”

“Good evening Mr. Chandler,” Dorian greeted.

“Morning, now,” Ethan said. Victor nodded at the greeting but kept his eyes on Dorian. “Here to see Vanessa, then?”

“She isn’t well at the moment. I wanted to wait—“

“Victor, may you excuse us?” Ethan approached the chair Victor occupied.

“Sure, yes. I have some … business to attend to downstairs.” He stood, left, did not look back.

“Opiates are a facet of the business now, are they?” Dorian grinned as he spoke. At Ethan’s eyebrow he explained, “track marks. Nothing I haven’t seen … or experienced before. Poor boy.”

“He’s not under his own control,” Ethan warned. “Your favourite state for another to be in, am I wrong?”

“You kissed me,” Dorian reminded him. Ethan shot him a look so cold a corpse could feel it. “She knows, doesn’t she?”

“She does,” he said, without a trace of emotion. “And if he’s clever enough, so does our young friend.”

“I thought that might be the case. Such information only works to my advantage, anyways.”

“I know what you do.”

“So do many.”

“I won’t let you mesmerize him.”

“You would stop him from gaining an experience he desires? I’m told he’s unspoilt. And a scientist with a powerful curiosity. It’s all rather intriguing.”

“No. It’s not. I think perhaps you should le—“

“Mister Chandler? I think we need you. The, uh, a priest is here to talk to Vanessa.” Victor’s eyes darted from one man to the other. “I can’t deal with those who preach, well, what that man preaches.”

Ethan turned a pained gaze from Dorian to Victor before he sighed. “Alright. Mister Gray, I believe you were on your way out?”  
“Of course,” Ethan said, and turned to Victor. “Please.”

The rain continued and Dorian flipped his collar up to avoid moisture collecting on his neck. Victor watched this with an expression so loaded with emotion that he was hard to read. It seemed to be his primary defence, so much emotion that picking the one most true proved a challenge. Oh, how the idea of showing this man overwhelming sensation blossomed beautifully in Dorian’s mind.

“It must be exhausting, watching over her like this.”

“There is no sleep in this house,” Victor admitted.

“Would you like to join me for some tea? I’m afraid I’ll be chilled when I return home and I won’t be sleeping for some time. If you’d like some relief, I can offer it — at least momentarily.”

“Momentarily is all I have,” Victor said, and Dorian contemplated the ease with which his plan took root. But still, there was hesitation in the other man’s eyes.

“I also have morphine, if you need it.”

Dorian’s eyes flashed. “You—“

“Can recognize the signs of withdrawal when I see them, yes. Is someone suspicious or can you simply not afford any more?”

“Haven’t had a spare moment.”

“Then my offer must seem at least a little appealing.”

Victor huffed something like a chuckle. “Ethan would not be pleased.”

“But it’s not Ethan who matters, is it? Vanessa would want you rested, happy. She won’t notice your absence. Not like this.”

Victor’s eyelashes stood out against his skin when he looked down. “I need my coat.”

 

Ethan realized Victor’s absence not five minutes after leaving Vanessa’s side. The priest, scared off by Vanessa’s screeching and scandal-sharing, left in a hurry but promised that hope was not gone. Vanessa would be lucid — or something closer to it — soon, but for the time being binding her to the bed was all they could do.

Ethan found his hat, his coat, and even a scarf for the chill of the rain, and walked by memory back to Dorian Gray’s house. For all the irritation that burned in his chest, he surprised himself by recognizing the door. He knocked, loudly, and when a servant opened it he pushed past her and stormed to where the walls were lined with portraits.

Victor looked up first, needle embedded in his arm, leather strap pulled taught, and at his start, Dorian turned around from where he watched his plaything. “Mister Chandler,” he cooed with a feral grin.

“Victor, don’t let him win you over.” But it was too late. Victor’s head lolled back with the pleasure of the high and Dorian stood to extract the needle from his grip.

“I won’t let him do anything he doesn’t want to.” Dorian moved close to Ethan, close enough that Victor couldn’t hear had he been sober.

“That’s not the kind of fun I want with this one.”

“You sick fuck,” Ethan spat. “I’m going to take him home.”

“Home, to where he can’t sleep, can’t hide, can’t relax. To where the screams of a friend haunt both his reality and his dreams. He joined me because he needs a break.” Dorian took a step closer. “You both need a break.” Ethan’s eyes glazed, pupils dilated. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “And there’s my answer,” Dorian whispered before kissing the man hard. For half a second, Ethan tried to pull away, but stopped when Dorian’s tongue slid across his incisors. Dorian broke the kiss when he wanted to, which was just as Victor lifted his head.

“Look at your boy over there. Do not tell me you haven’t wanted that since you first laid your eyes on him.”

“I didn’t,” Ethan said with honesty. “It wasn’t until I spent a night here that I realized.”

“I can’t decide whether I should be offended or not,” Dorian said. He let go of Ethan and made his way towards Victor.

“No,” Victor said, fear heavy at the back of his throat. “I’m— I’ve not—“

“Hush. I know. But haven’t you always been curious? A man of science. A man of the body. You must have read, must know the anatomy of sensation. And yet you’ve never experienced it firsthand.”

“I’m— I—“

Dorian knelt before Victor, his hands on either side of his legs. “You don’t need to say anything,” he spoke soft, reassuring. “Only tell me what you want.” Dorian glanced back at Ethan. “And promise me you want it.”

“I— I want. I want to know what it feels like?”

“What _what_ feels like, doctor?”

“Call me Victor, please.” He paused, took a breath. “To climax.”

“That’s a good start,” Dorian said, a smile beginning to play at his lips. It ached his muscles to contain it. “And how would you like to go about that?”

“I’ll leave it up to you,” he said, with some effort and a ruby blush spreading up his neck. A quick succumb; any concern on Dorian’s part that his effect was lost — Vanessa’s rejection had left him awash with fear —was lost with the totality of Victor’s compliance. One moment wanting nothing but peace and drugs, and now giving in to Dorian Gray’s own imaginings. As it should be.

“And you promise me that this is what you want?”

“Yes. But for the science of it. For the relief of it. Educational.”

“Of course,” Dorian said. He turned towards Ethan. “And we shall have a little fun while we’re at it.”

Ethan watched Dorian lead Victor to his room, his bed. Ethan watched while Dorian pushed gently on Victor’s shoulders, guiding him to a sitting position. Ethan watched when Dorian removed the other man’s shoes, socks, then his own. Ethan watched Dorian sit beside Victor, take his face in his hands, and kiss him gently, so gently. Victor remained impassive stone and when Dorian pulled away, his eyes went straight to the sharp shooter in the corner.

“I think our young Victor is not so into voyeurism,” Dorian said as though it were a revelation. “Come, sit on the bed.”

“For him, to protect him.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Victor finally spoke.

“From Mister Gray you might. Say the word and I’ll stop this.”

“You’re going to sit there and watch?” Victor asked, swallowing hard.

“This is, after all, for science, right doctor?” Dorian offered.

“Victor,” the man ground out. “Don’t add to the sins by using a title people trust. Fine, yes. Continue.”  
Dorian kissed his ears, his jaw, his neck, allowing his tongue to flick out and send shivers through Victor. His hands found the buttons of Victor’s vest, removed it, then started on his shirt.

“No,” Victor said, and Ethan jumped to attention. “Can I— May I leave it on?”

“Whatever you wish,” Dorian replied with no hint of disappointment. “But these,” he began on the trousers, “may have to go.” Victor gulped, nodded, reached out his hand to Ethan as Dorian moved closer to the sensitive area.

Perhaps it was the morphine, perhaps the opportunity for comfort while he took on something he feared. The vulnerability of it all was so much, and Dorian had barely begun, but to clutch Ethan’s hand relaxed Victor noticeably. Ethan stretched out in a clear attempt to both show his boredom and give privacy by staring at the ceiling, but Dorian had no intention of keeping Ethan out of the picture for long.

Dorian moved to kiss Victor again, and as he hovered above the nervous man, he whispered, “I’m going to touch you until you beg me to fuck you.” Victor bit his lip, nodded. “But you mustn’t fear, I will keep it pleasurable, make it as painless for you as I can, and when I’m done you will know what it is to be fully spent. No longer shall you wonder of what you’ve read in medical books and accounts.”

Ethan rolled his eyes, but only Dorian caught it. Victor’s fingers scrambled against Ethan palms and Dorian thought he saw a hint of a smile on the cowboy’s lips.

“You sure you want to continue?” Ethan asked.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Dorian slipped the rest of of the fabric that stood in the way down Victor’s body and at the chill Victor shivered. Dorian wrapped one hand around his cock, which twitched under his fingers. Victor gasped, but not quite so loud as he did when Dorian swirled his thumb over the tip. Victor’s eyes screwed tight and he whimpered. Ethan sat up to watch his expression, his own face betraying a longing so deep it pained him. When Victor opened his eyes, he saw the face of his friend and arched up to connect their lips. Dorian watched, enjoyed the sight of it. He wondered how long passion had been suppressed between them, how much desire suppressed in that house overall. Between Vanessa’s _psycho-sexual_ lashing out, Victor’s desires fuelled by a lifetime of shame, and Ethan — oh, Ethan — the confused boy who hated himself more than any of them.

As the two amateurs before him struggled through the epiphany, he lowered himself to give Victor something more. He tongued the shaft before taking as much of the young man into his mouth as he could, sucking gently before using the barest hint of his teeth. Victor whined into Ethan’s mouth. A virgin, no doubt. He was half-started and almost done. Dorian took Ethan’s hand and wrapped it around Victor’s cock while he went to the nightstand to find salve. There were various locations where he kept something — when you were Dorian Gray, you never knew — but he saved his favourite for the bed. A hint of perfume, almost delicious, but not enough to overwhelm the scent of the act itself.

As he sat himself once more on the bed, he pushed Victor’s legs up so they bent at the knees, then spread them apart. Victor, seeming to know what was about to happen, latched his fingers hard into Ethan’s side, which forced a new moan. Dorian gently thumbed the entrance before pushing inside, which made Victor groan and paw at Ethan until the cowboy could take it no longer and shifted so he could tug down his own trousers. Dorian, again, smiled at what he had created, and forced his finger in to the knuckle before retreating and adding another.

“Fuck,” Victor spat. “Alright, alright. Just—,” he grimaced as Dorian bent a finger, hitting the prostate with perfect accuracy. “Just do it. Fuck me.”

“I’m going to need you to ask with more conviction than that,” Dorian stated, completely calm. Victor’s hand found Ethan’s cock just as Dorian crooked another finger, forcing him to squeeze and Ethan to growl.

“Please, for the love of God, of science, please fuck me, Mister Gray.”

“Call me Dorian,” he stated, then released his own cock and settled it between Victor’s legs. “I would suggest you find more use for your pretty mouth than those delicious moans,” Dorian started, “but I’m afraid you might bite as you bear down. Such tricks aren’t for beginners. Perhaps Mister Chandler and I will take turns.”

“Bear down?” Victor choked out.

“If you don’t mind,” Dorian said, then entered the writhing man beneath him as Ethan practically held him down. Victor cried out, remembering the advice only after Dorian was half sheathed.

Ethan clambered off the scientist. “You said you’d be gentle.”

“I said I would make it as painless as I could,” Dorian corrected, remaining as still as possible. “In my experience, faster pain is more bearable than slow, unending torment.”

“The kid doesn’t heal like you do,” Ethan pointed out.

“I’d assume not, but he will be in need of more morphine shortly, and isn’t that similar enough?”

“I’m fine, I’m good, oh, so good,” Victor moaned, and it was half annoyance at the bickering and half unparalleled _need_.

“Fuck,” Ethan cursed. Dorian rocked back, just a fraction, and Victor reached out again for his friend.

Now was the time for enjoyment. Enough with promises of compassion, of science and research. Dorian threw back his head and pumped in and out of the virgin beneath him. Virginity was not something hard earned by him, especially not in men — so often were they desiring, never to have explored such sins before — but this pathetic undulating creature beneath him … And with ties to his Vanessa, no less. But Victor was more than halfway there, and offering the prize to Ethan would be more than enough thanks for the images the two of them provided him with. He could have Victor again, another day.

Dorian slid out, and Victor whined a high-pitched pathetic-as-ever sound. He looked at Ethan, then down at Victor. He raised an eyebrow. Ethan’s eyes lit up emphatically, but Dorian moved out of the way and knelt near Victor’s head, leaned over, and whispered as Ethan prepared himself. “Your friend has been wanting this for some time, I thought it only fair to give him a chance. All the more research for you, my dear. Tell me, when we’re through, who won the night.” Dorian leaned down, kissed the overwhelmed boy, savoured the taste of fear, arousal, and sweat on his skin. He brought Victor’s hand to his cock, wrapped his own hand around the other man’s, and guided him in pace. Soft hands, so unlike the man who was seconds from thrusting forward.

Again, when entered, Victor cried out, squeezed hard. Ethan, too, had no patience. Ethan came first, but continued his pace with effort until Victor turned his face and screamed into a pillow, at which point Dorian released, then watched his two men as they breathed hard into his linens.

After five, perhaps ten minutes, Victor raised his head. “Pain,” he stammered. “My morphine.”

“Of course.” Dorian rose from the bed. He left Ethan where he lay, and went to the portrait room to retrieve the morphine that Victor left. He had it on hand for almost this exact situation — far too many people found themselves in the haze of opiates these days, and he collected a variety of substances to satiate his guests.

Dorian crawled into bed besides the helpless man and stroked from his hair down his neck, shoulder, arm and lifted gently, pulling the strap around, searching for a vein in an arm tracked with punctures.

“You’re going to enable him?” Ethan asked, half asleep yet irritated as ever.

“He is in pain, you know.” Dorian raised an accusing eyebrow.

“That’s not what this is and you know it.”

Dorian tapped the syringe, pushed the needle in, and let the morphine flow. The lushness of Victor’s sigh almost had Dorian’s mouth watering. “I think you, at least, should sleep,” Dorian whispered into Victor’s ear. “And you may, too, Mister Chandler, if you so choose.”

“No way in hell,” he spat, and Dorian shushed him with a finger to his lips, a glance at the fast — so very fast — asleep scientist.

“Follow me, then, for some tea. It’s the least I can do, hospitality-wise.”

Ethan glanced at the sleeping form of his friend, or perhaps now a lover, and decided it was safe to leave him. Dorian read the thoughts as they crossed his face. Much easier to read than the overwhelmed boy, so passionate in his obsessions. Ethan only cared for one thing at a time, but cared for it well. How lucky Dorian felt, to have had his fears quelled by two men of such a caliber — and so different. How lucky, he realized, to know once more his own power. And when Vanessa came back to herself, demon-free or otherwise, Dorian would try again, but know how console himself in the event of a shaming denial.

**Author's Note:**

> The expense of spirit in a waste of shame  
> Is lust in action; and till action, lust  
> Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,  
> Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,  
> Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight,  
> Past reason hunted, and no sooner had  
> Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait  
> On purpose laid to make the taker mad;  
> Mad in pursuit and in possession so;  
> Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;  
> A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;  
> Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.  
> All this the world well knows; yet none knows well  
> To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
> 
> \- Shakespeare's Sonnet 129


End file.
